


When the Fog Rolls In

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AOS S3, Angst, Gen, Post S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8047177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: Perhaps this was just the way of winter coming to a close, but the sorrow and drudgery of melting snow lingered as, like fractured ice, the team slowly but surely drifted.-May observes the team as they recover from Lincoln's death, and as the questions of loyalty, mortality and purpose he raised, drive the team to where we know they are by the beginning of S4.





	When the Fog Rolls In

__  
They say it's better to try and fail  
_And we tried like hell._

 _-[When the Fog Rolls In](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JgbDW7O_XY)_ , Train

-

The kitchen was quiet, and a little tense. Several days had passed since Lincoln’s death, and the whole base was feeling it. It was as if they had descended into a bizarre sort of winter, all moving quietly and covered. The world was safe outside, and its protectors finally sheltered, rested, yet unable to properly repair, as grief and guilt and pain sapped the satisfaction from their victory.

Coulson had lost a lot of agents in his time. A lot. But recently he’d come to engage with them closer, and to see them more like his own family than his employees and colleagues. Looking back, he’d treated Lincoln more like a wayward son than a growing man – and, as May had fortunately started to point out to him, sometimes as even less than that. The suicide vest? What was he thinking? At times, he was almost tempted to destroy those things completely. How had it taken him so long to start to value Lincoln? To start to trust him? How, when Daisy had come to his defence time and time again? How, when Lincoln had put up with every hoop he’d been asked to jump through, just for the chance to stay? 

May often caught him studying the eagle-shaped plate of the engraver. Was he tossing up whether or not to put Lincoln’s name on the wall, May wondered, or was he trying to decide whether to use an Agent’s or a civilian’s tribute?

Personally, she had never been one for tribute walls, least not here in such a small and enclosed space. Their jobs were hard enough without walking past the names of the fallen every day. But what was more than that, what made her teeth grind together sometimes, was the falseness of it. Of course, those who died in the line of duty were worthy of remembrance. Of course. But were not those who’d had the memory of their service wiped from their minds also worthy of that? Were not those who had lost limbs and sacrificed their mental health also worthy? And what of those who, like Bobbi and Hunter, had allowed themselves to be abandoned by Shield in favour of pursuing their greater mission?

So, bittersweet though they were, May much preferred the quiet, personal remembrances they all went through. They had a tiny pile of belongings laid out in tribute; some typical of memorials, like a candle and Lincoln’s own meditation cymbals, and some – like a DVD of _The Terminator_ that had yet to be opened – a more personal, even slightly amusing touch. 

That was the sweet part. The bitterness was a lot more subtle, and yet somehow, more obvious to May’s eagle eye. It was in the way Daisy all but hobbled around, as if she’d been through a massive fight and had been shot, or bruised her ribs, and for the life of her, could not stand tall. It was in the way May herself hesitated when reaching for her flight jacket; the blazing, matching emblem that the others wore so rarely a reminder of the cruel and bizarre set of circumstances that had led them to that point. And FitzSimmons. They checked on each other out of the corners of their eyes, when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Sometimes, they were simply admiring, but other times there was desperation behind their eyes, as though they were making sure the other person was still there. 

The fog would eventually lift, of course, as it always had done, but while the other tragedies they had faced thus far tended to draw the team together, they began to separate. Questions of loyalty, mortality, and purpose haunted them, and as they sought, and perhaps found, the answers to those questions, they trailed off down different paths. Perhaps this was just the way of winter coming to a close, but the sorrow and drudgery of melting snow lingered as, like fractured ice, they slowly but surely drifted. 

Daisy became increasingly secretive, almost invisible. She was still around, but closing in on herself and hiding from the world that insisted on pushing on without her. 

Coulson stepped down from his leadership position a little too willingly, Talbot’s interference no longer providing enough motivation for him to maintain his reluctance against his desire to surrender the power that had started to claw at his soul and his morals.

May was a quiet observer. She took up the teaching position offered her, but she could feel that air of mystery returning, the same whispers of legend that had made the name _the Cavalry_ send shivers down her spine. Only this time, the whispers were not just about her. They wrapped their tendrils around the whole team, as people speculated what had happened, and what might happen, as their core seemed to fracture and flake. She’d given some cadets stern eyes and firm words in defence of grief and mourning. Then she’d been blindsided when, that very afternoon, Fitz had quit. 

May had always thought that, out of either of those two, Simmons would be the first to go. It was clearly breaking her heart to sign Fitz away from the lab, but poor Simmons’ heart seemed to be constantly breaking these days, even while she was happy. Even Fitz - who May had thought might just live forever, fuelled by the love he had for Simmons, if nothing else – seemed to be wading through a pool of something May herself didn’t really understand. Neither of them was clawing to get away, or desperate to fly to safety. As she watched, May came to realise that it was Daisy who was breaking their hearts. It was that in every moment of their joy, they were conscious of their best friend’s utter and endless grief. 

The day Fitz quit, May soon found out, was the day Daisy had quit too. 

Fitz had not sat down to deliver his letter. In the absence of Coulson, and of the new Director – the latter of which May couldn’t help but believe was intentional, on Fitz’ part – Fitz had found her in the Director’s office and handed her his letter of resignation. He’d lingered only to point out that he didn’t plan on severing ties, going underground, or even leaving base so long as they would keep him, only that his primary source of employment had changed. It was unorthodox, to house someone not working for them, but May figured, everything was unorthodox these days – and a lot of that was for the best. She'd promised she’d pass on his word and sort something out, and he'd thanked her and left. 

May was reading over his letter, taking her time though it was only a few sentences, when Simmons had knocked on the door and let herself in. Her frame was rickety, shaken up but holding. In one hand, she clenched Daisy’s dashboard hula-doll, and in the other, she reached forward and held another letter out to May. Her eyes, reddened with tears, glistened forlornly as she stepped further into the room, holding the letter out. She took a deep, steadying breath and explained: 

“Daisy left this for you.” 

As soon as May took the letter, as soon as it left contact with her fingers, Simmons turned and escaped back the way she had come, determined to hide her face as her strength and demeanour began to lose the battle against her overwhelming emotions. 

May let her leave without a word, and without following her with her eyes. Instead, she turned her attention to the letter Daisy had left. Unlike Fitz’, it was not crisp and white and official, of course not. It wasn’t even typed. She’d dug up an old stationary kit from somewhere and hand-written a note. May didn’t read it. She carefully tucked it back into its envelope and took a deep breath. She could not afford to break her own heart right now; she had work to do. 

Yet her heart sunk nonetheless, because her warning had gone unheeded. Daisy may have left the base, but she had not escaped the box of grief and guilt she’d been trapped in after Hive’s battering. In fact, this time it seemed, she had locked herself in and thrown away the key.


End file.
